Barclays is being punished for being first, not worst

Barclays came clean while others are still hiding manipulation.

One thing that has come through in Barclays' counter-offensive over Libor-fixing is that it genuinely believes that what it was doing, if not actually ethical, was at least no worse than that which every other bank was doing.

In its submission to parliament, it writes of itself that:

The bank’s exceptional level of cooperation was expressly recorded by each of the Authorities, and was described by the DoJ as "extraordinary and extensive, in terms of the quality and types of information provided" and "the nature and value of Barclays cooperation has exceeded what other entities have provided in the course of this investigation." That cooperation has led to Barclays being the first to reach resolution of these issues. It ironic that there has been such an intense focus on Barclays alone, caused by our being first to settle in the midst of an industry-wide, global investigation.

Similarly, in Bob Diamond's record of his phone call with the Bank of England's Paul Tucker, we learn (as well as the fact that Diamond goes by RED, for Robert Edward Diamond, in internal memos) that Barclays genuninely believed the reality of Libor was that:

Not all banks were providing quotes at levels that represented real transactions.

This belief – that other banks have been manipulating Libor as well – is not some desperate attempt by Barclays to divert attention. We already know that RBS had to fire at least four, and possibly as many as ten, traders over Libor manipulation, and it seems likely that many other banks were doing the same thing. Indeed, if Barclays are to be believed, the only reason the call with Tucker happened at all was because they were manipulating Libor less than the other banks. This chart, via Reuter's Jamie McGreever, shows Barclay's spread over the Libor rate:

Notice the spike in Barclays' borrowing costs in September 2008, settling down almost entirely by December of that year. The Bank of England apparently thought that was because the market considered Barclays to be riskier than most banks; Barclays believed it to be because the other banks were lying more than it was. (The answer, of course, is likely somewhere in the middle.)

It may still be true that Barclays was qualitatively worse. There is no hint – yet – that the lies from RBS went any higher than trader level, whereas Barclays' Chief Operating Officer resigned yesterday as it became apparent that he may have directly ordered subordinates to under-report Libor rates, based on a mis-understanding of Tucker's phone call.

But it is undoubtedly the case that the reason Barclays is getting the most trouble – the reason why all subsequent investigation has focused on them, and they have had two waves of high-profile resignations – is because they were the first to be fingered. And they were only first because they held their hands up and admitted culpability. The authorities are, after all, still investigating other banks.

It may well turn out that what Barclays was doing was in no way unique. Now, if that results in the CEOs of all major banks being hounded out and potentially prosecuted for their actions in the run-up and immediate aftermath of the financial crisis, then it's been a long time coming. But it seems far more likely that what will happen is that by the third or fourth bank, the excuse that "everyone was doing it" will start to hold water. The failure will be seen as systematic, and worthy of investigation, but not of any extra punishment beyond the reforms which will be suggested then half-heartedly implemented on the industry. The chief executives who participated in cover-ups will get off.

What lesson does this teach banks and businesses in the future? Do not co-operate. Do not reveal anything to the authorities. If you hold your hands up and admit blame, you will be pilloried, but if you bury your wrongdoings until someone else is found out, you'll get away scott-free.

That doesn't seem to be the best idea.

Barclays bank, being punished worst for coming clean first. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times